Author: Kristan Higgins

“On Nauset?” He didn’t seem as if he was trying to bust my chops with those big green eyes of his looking at me so innocently, his golden lashes catching the light.

“I live on Cable,” I said, artfully dodging the question. “I run on Nauset every once in a while.”

“Oh, yeah? I thought you lived on Oak Street.”

“My parents live on Oak.” I took another large swig of my drink. It wasn’t bad. Not good, either, but not bad. “I live not too far from the lighthouse.” Great! Now he knew where I lived.

Someone tapped me on the shoulder, and I turned around. It was Lorenzo.

“Oh! Hi, Lorenzo!” I said.

“Sorry I’m a little late,” he said with a frown, glancing at Joe.

“Oh, that’s okay. Lorenzo, this is Joe Carpenter,” I replied. “Joe, Lorenzo Bellefiore.”

“Good to meet you,” Joe said, extending a hand to Lorenzo. They shook. My boyfriends shook hands. I fought the bubble of laughter that wanted to burst out of me.

“Lorenzo’s new to the Cape,” I told Joe. “He’s a marine biologist.”

“Oh, yeah?” the golden one replied affably. “Great.”

“What do you do, Joe?” the dark god asked. Was it my imagination, or did Lorenzo sound a little…impatient? Impatient to be with me?

“I’m a carpenter,” Joe answered.

“Oh. I thought that was your name,” Lorenzo said, looking perplexed.

“It is. Joe Carpenter the Carpenter. It’s my slogan.” Joe smiled at me again, and my heart stopped beating for a second.

“Gotcha.”

I could have watched them all night, my head swiveling back and forth like a frenetic windshield wiper, but thankfully, Katie interrupted. “Your table is all set,” she said in professional-waitress mode.

“Nice talking to you, Joe,” I said, sliding out of my seat to follow Katie.

“Don’t forget your drink,” he replied, handing me my glass with a half grin.

“Thanks.” Oh, he was so sweet!

Lorenzo and I sat down at an intimate little corner table (thank you, best friend). Katie handed us our menus and gave the wine list to Lorenzo. When she was safely out of his field of vision, she gave me the thumbs-up.

“So,” I said to Lorenzo, “how’s your hand?”

He frowned. “It’s all right. It still hurts. Do you think it’s infected?”

I took his hand and studied the cut. The stitches were holding fast, and the cut was healing perfectly, no inflammation, no redness. “It’s not infected.”

He raised his eyebrows as if dubious.

“Well. So, Lorenzo, what do you think of the Barnacle?”

He looked around, taking in the mishmash of nautical decorations and eclectic tablecloths. “Very cute. Have you eaten here before?”

“Oh, absolutely. Lots of times. The lobster bisque is out of this world.”

For what seemed like forever, Lorenzo studied the menu. After all, he was a scientist and clearly needed all the facts before making a decision. I sipped my drink and looked around casually, wondering who, other than Joe, Chris the bartender and Katie, would see me tonight with this divine creature.

“I guess I’ll try the bisque,” Lorenzo said, giving me a smile that was very nearly as beautiful as Joe’s. “And the grilled swordfish.”

Katie came back with a refill on my drink and took our orders. I was already starting to feel a little warm, so I asked Lorenzo a few questions designed to get him to talk until my bloodstream adjusted to the vodka I was pouring into it.

“Do you like it here so far, Lorenzo? Spring on the Cape is gorgeous.”

He leaned back in his chair and regarded me with his bottomless brown eyes. “It’s fine,” he answered. “Very pretty in parts. But the thing that’s driving me a little crazy is the lack of decent conversation. It’s great talking to you.”

Hmm. Was that a compliment? Hard to say.

“The people…I don’t know,” he went on.

Alarm bells went off in my head. I sat up a little straighter. “What about the people?”

“Well…no one is exactly welcoming. I mean, I’ve been here a month, and you’re the first person I can actually talk to.”

“I think that’s just the way it is in an area that relies on a tourist economy,” I said reassuringly. “The locals are generally a little reserved. They need the tourism dollars but feel a lack of respect from the out-of-towners.” Nicely said, I thought, despite (or perhaps because of) my buzz.

“I suppose that’s true,” Lorenzo agreed. I smiled at him to show there were no hard feelings.

Katie arrived with our soup. “Enjoy,” she murmured, deliberately stepping on my foot as she set the bowl in front of me. Lorenzo took a slurp.

“Oh, that is good,” he said. The bisque was, as always, rich and piping hot, with huge chunks of lobster swimming in the creamy liquid. I managed not to dribble any on my bosom and forced myself not to tip the bowl up and drink from it.

“How about the accent up here?” Lorenzo said, just as I put another spoonful into my mouth. A spoonful with a big lobster piece in it, which would require significant chewing.

“Did you hear that guy at the bar?” Lorenzo went on, oblivious to my accelerated mastication. “‘Joe Cahpenteh the Cahpenteh.’ Is that still considered English?”

I put my spoon down and swallowed. “Actually, as you’re visiting here,” I said as if addressing a child, “you are the one with the accent, not the Cape Codders.” And should a Brooklyn native be making fun of anyone’s accent?

“I know, I know,” Lorenzo said, grinning sheepishly. “But come on.”

“And Joe Carpenter happens to be a very nice guy.”

This got his attention. “Do you know him?” he asked.

“I was talking to him, wasn’t I? We went to high school together.”

“Oh, shit! You’re from here?” His dismay, whether at putting his foot in his mouth or at my point of origin, was almost funny to see. Almost.

“Yes, I was born and raised here,” I said sternly.

“But you don’t sound like those…those people, uh, the natives,” he backpedaled.

“Well, I haven’t really lived here since I was eighteen. And my mom’s from Connecticut, so I suppose I sound more like her.”

Lorenzo wisely refrained from further comment, and we turned back to our bisque.

My mind was whirling. Lorenzo, his dark god looks aside, had yet to say something to make me like him. However, he did have the aforementioned dark god looks, and furthermore, Joe Carpenter was sitting twenty feet away, well aware that I was on a date with a very handsome man.

“Why don’t we talk about something else?” I said, offering the olive branch.

“Good idea,” Lorenzo replied.

“Tell me about your graduate work,” I said.

Oh, how I regretted those words twenty minutes later! Lorenzo was off and running with the subject, clearly very full of himself and his subject. When Katie brought our dinners, I toyed with my earring, our teenage sign language for Help me.

“Can I get you anything else right now?” she asked with a pleasant smile. Apparently she didn’t remember. I tugged on the earring.

“No,” Lorenzo answered, not politely. Katie cocked an eyebrow at me and made her escape.

“So, anyway, as I was saying, this professor just didn’t grasp my theory about the species’ mating habits, even though I knew, and everyone else knew, that I was really onto something. I mean, with tidal patterns that consistent, you’d expect that the head of the migratory crustacean department would have given even a little thought to the fact that…”

His voice droned on. And on. And on. The next time I suffered a bout of insomnia, I would recall this conversation word for word, and I’d be out in seconds flat. Taking a few sips of my drink, I could clearly understand why my fellow Cape Codders had passed this guy over. I glanced at the bar, where Joe was tucking into a burger. He waved a little, and I smiled back. Now there was a man. A good, unassuming, hardworking, honest man who must be tricked into thinking I was having a wonderful time with this idiot in front of me.

Pretending Lorenzo had said something funny, I burst out laughing, shaking my head as if I couldn’t believe what he’d just said. Lorenzo stopped talking, confused.

“That’s too much,” I exclaimed.

“What?”

“That they, uh, didn’t get your theory?” I guessed.

“Right. Actually, I was telling you about my third-year in the doctorate program.”

“Oh, I know,” I said, grasping. “It’s just that, before, you know. They didn’t understand.”

“Uh-huh.”

Again, Katie came to the rescue. “How is everything tonight?” she asked. A loaded question. Speaking of loaded, I took another slug of my vodka drink, which was becoming more and more delicious as my tongue grew more and more anesthetized.

“Everything is wonderful,” I answered, opening my eyes a fraction too wide. She smiled in understanding. Hopefully, she’d been eavesdropping as she’d served the tables around us. I’d have been disappointed if she wasn’t.

“Actually, my swordfish was a little tough,” Lorenzo stated. “Are you sure it was really swordfish? Because I’ve eaten at places that try to pass off shark as swordfish.”

Katie’s expression became granite. This was taboo. Visitors to the Cape should never disparage our fish. Fishing is the heart and soul of the Cape, and out-of-towners were not allowed to question our fish’s authenticity. I took another gulp of my drink.

“I’m quite sure it’s swordfish,” Katie said in a voice as cold as the Atlantic in February. “Would you like to speak with our chef?”

Them was fighting words. Uh-oh. If the chef came out here, then everyone in the entire restaurant would know what I knew: Lorenzo Bellefiore, Ph.D., was an idiot.

“Oh, no, no, no, no,” I interjected hastily. “No. Lorenzo, the cheesecake here is wonderful. Want to try a piece?”

“Fine,” Lorenzo muttered, still staring sullenly at Katie. “And coffee. But if you don’t have real cream, forget it. I hate when restaurants charge you two dollars for a cup of coffee and then give you skim milk to put in it.”

“It’s cream,” Katie gritted out, slapping our plates onto a tray with a clatter. “Would you like to inspect the cow?” She stomped off. God, I was so sorry I had to put her through this. Hopefully, we could have a laugh later on. Maybe she would forgive me. Maybe if I took Mike and Corey for an overnight…or a month.

Lorenzo and I were alone again. Although I now knew that I never wanted to see Lorenzo of the Crabs again, I also sensed that we were being watched. By Joe. With a sigh, I leaned forward and fake smiled. “So, Lorenzo, do you have brothers or sisters?” I asked.

“Yes,” he answered, still looking pissy. “Two brothers and two sisters.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” I said, though, based on his expression, it was not. Toying with my fork, I laughed again, hoping it looked as if we were having fun. “I have a sister.”

“Really.”

And speaking of my sister, in came her ex-husband! In his uniform, no less! How handsome he looked, how alpha and official! Oh, yes—I remembered now. Sam had to check on me. I took another slug of vodka and tonic, watching Katie greet Sam and gesture my way. Sam came over to the table.

“Hello, Officer,” I said, turning my head to look up at him. Whee! The room spun and my vision blurred.

“Hello,” Sam answered. He looked at Lorenzo in his cop way, assessing, judging, intimidating. “Is that car with the Florida plates yours?” he demanded, very bad-cop. Unfortunately, his question epitomized the Cape Cod accent that Lorenzo found so amusing, coming out as Is that cah with the Flarrider plates yaws? And Lorenzo, the asshole, smirked.